Changes
by that is secret
Summary: [discontinued because of the fifth book; just doesn't work anymore. sigh.] Harry has changed from chipper boy to dark, depressing!Harry. It's up to Draco to help him out. D/H, rating for language, violence, psychological stuff.
1. The First Letter

Disclaimer: disturbing fic. Slash. Possible violence and other disturbing things in future chapters. Don't start unless you want to read such things.   
  
A/N: Mmm. Pass the Harry/Draco goodness. *takes a big spoonful and puts it on her plate* Luckily, I've discovered that although I still cannot get Microsoft Word to work. . . Notepad DOES work! In other words, I can start new fics but not continue old ones. *sigh* So here ya go. *points up at disclaimer* Read, comprehend, and follow.   
  
  
  
I watched him this entire past year.  
  
I watched as he changed. I watched his relationship with Ron and Hermione deteriorate. None of them realized it. The little spats and fights; the look in his eyes.  
  
I watched him grow into himself while he was falling to pieces.   
  
I watched as his smile went cold and his eyes barred himself from intruders. As his face tightened ever so imperceptibly.  
  
I watched as he struck up a friendship with Snape. Severus Snape, of all people. I don't know how he did it, to tell the truth. I watched as he threw himself into his Potions work, and the way Snape no longer picked on him in the old fashion.  
  
I watched. Silently, behind my sneer, I watched him. Grow and twist and bend. I saw the way it filled up inside him: anger at the ones he loved, the ones who had somehow betrayed him; the desire to belong; the need to destroy and start over. Although no one else knew, I - his worst enemy - I did. I knew the breaking point would be soon.   
  
What I did not expect was exactly what turns his - and my - story would take.  
  
I was sitting at home in my room, contemplating the wall. I do this often; walls fascinate me for some reason. So cold and impersonal, dividing life into compartments to be controlled and contained.  
  
I have much experience with walls. . . particularly the internal kind.  
  
Anyways, enough of that. It was about a third of the way through the summer. I sat in my room, the breeze from the open window nice and cool in the evening heat. There was nothing for once: nothing to do, no emotion to tend to, no self to control.  
  
Then, of course, I heard the owl.  
  
I turned to glare at it, but I think my jaw dropped instead. Potter's owl, preening on my windowsill. I took the letter and read.  
  
  
Malfoy-  
Some interesting things have come up. You may have another sixth-year Slytherin. Be forwarned that this year. . . this year will be different.  
-Potter  
  
  
This, I did not expect. It was obvious to me, after last year, that this new Slytherin was himself. Who else would he be talking about? And why was he warning me - me of all people? Why owl me?   
  
Potter?  
  
Slytherin?  
  
My, he *had* changed. How he would get into Slytherin, I didn't know. A resorting was the only way I could think of. But everything that happened, since the very first time I had met the boy, pointed to Gryffindor.  
  
Well, except for all of last year. And now.   
  
Maybe Voldemort's blow gave him more than the gift of Parseltongue.  
  
Or, maybe, just maybe, it was inside him all along.   
  
*tbc*  
  
  
  
A/N: Review, or I'll kidnap Draco and no one will ever see him again! Well, I might do that anyways. . . *cough* But Draco likes reviews. Give the boy a few. 


	2. Hints in the Air

A/N: *eyes widen hugely* Thanks to the people who reviewed the first chapter - so many reviews! Eeep! I've not got that many on a single chapter ever, I think. *hugs* And since you were all so nice as to review, I'll share Draco (and that leather piece sounds good ^_^).   
  
Anyways, strange chapter for ya. It only exists to set up some stuff for later. But, when one thinks about it, everything in the world only exists to set up something for later. *mutters* I want to know what the final something is, that everything's been leading to!   
  
Muse-sama: Bad girl. No thinking, remember? Remember what it does to you?  
  
Anie: Oh hell, I'll just shut up. I won't say anything more about final somethings.  
  
Muse-sama: Good girl. Now everybody read! ^_^  
  
  
  
Neither of us ever really fit in, did we? He, the Boy Who Lived; I, son of a Death Eater. What did I really expect?  
  
Certainly not what I got.  
  
I owled Potter back - something along the lines of "Yes, Potter, and your point is?" It's amazing how such a reply can result in another third of the summer becoming devoted to inane conversation. It's also amazing how much you can learn through inane conversation. Between our trading of insults - "Ferret!" "Squib!" "Git!" "Wanker!" "I am NOT a wanker!" - I found out a lot. He wasn't going to the Weasleys' this summer; in fact, he'd hardly talked to either Weasel or the Mudblood, neither of which surprised me. He *had* been talking to Snape - once again, of all people, Snape - and to Sirius. Of course, he never said Sirius's name. It was always "my godfather." Like I didn't know who his godfather was. . . hmph. For all he'd changed, he was still naive, not expecting enemies to keep tabs on him.  
  
I found that his favorite food was cheese, he hated his relatives, and he thought that the Muggle down the street was really a witch. His descriptions of his fat, nasty cousin sent me into fits of giggles - and also brought tears to my eyes. The sheer horror of the Dursleys made me quake. I may have known a lot about him, but I never knew exactly how bad his home life was.  
  
Much like mine, come to think of it, although at least I have the status of heir. But that's another story.  
  
You can also learn from the way someone writes. You can learn how they think, their views and attitudes. Like how Gryffindor was no longer "his house" but simply Gryffindor. Or the way he never once insulted Slytherin. The sarcasm and the meanings between his words. He was breaking. His last walls were falling. I know; I can tell you anything about any wall, and his were nearly crashed to the cold barren ground. Soon he would be bare, completely defenseless. And to tell the truth, I feared for him. Another thing I know about is what it's like to be completely defenseless.  
  
It's not a pleasant feeling.  
  
So I, Draco Malfoy, also know as the git/prat/ferret/insufferable boy/cold unfeeling jerk, decided to help my enemy.  
  
Except that I couldn't be so sure if he was my enemy anymore.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I don't know what I was aiming to do. It was a crackpot idea. My broom was lying there, and I decided to fly to Potter's. I don't know. I just don't know.   
  
I told my father I was flying to a friend's (since when did I think of Potter as a friend?) and received the usual warning: "Cause any trouble, boy, and I'll have your head." It's how Lucius always acts. As long as I don't disturb him, I can do what I want.  
  
That night, I kicked off the ground and followed Hedwig. I'd gotten a rather disturbing letter from Potter the day before, you see, and I guess I trusted myself to help more than I trusted a letter.  
  
Why that is I'm not sure. I'm not exactly your stereotypical shoulder to lean on.  
  
It was a nice flight to Potter's. A warm summer night. . . mmm. Wind in my hair, Hedwig's occassional soft hoots, and that delicious feeling of freedom I get whenever I'm away from home. It was as close as I'd ever gotten to a perfect moment.  
  
Hedwig led me there quickly - she's a fast flier. It was just before dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.  
  
I stopped at his window and looked in.   
  
*tbc*  
  
  
  
A/N: Review, and you won't be stuck at a cliffhanger anymore! *evil grin* Don't make me un-share Draco. . . ^_~ 


	3. Confrontations

A/N: Beware this chapter. If you're trying to get off of cutting, you might want to skip it.   
  
Muse-sama: Now, class, how can you tell this is an Anie-fic?  
*girl in pigtails excitedly waves hand*  
Muse-sama: Yes, Josephine?  
Josephine: Because it's dark and twisted and is obviously the product of a disturbed mind!  
Muse-sama: Yes! Good girl! You have passed the test, and shall diminish, and go into the west, and remain Galadriel. . . erm. . . sorry, wrong fandom there.  
Anie: Yeah, Muse-sama has problems with that. *mutters something about strange crossover ideas*  
Muse-sama: I HEARD THAT!   
Anie: *squawks and runs away from a mallet-wielding Muse-sama* So, here ya go, kids!  
  
  
  
There was a flash of bright silver. Underneath it was pale peach, luminescent; streaks of deepest blues and deepest purples underneath that, with a hint of green. Another flash, and then a line of red.  
  
Another flash, another line. Again. Again. And again. Pale peach turned raw pink. The blues and the purples and the hint of green disappeared. More red, shining and sparkling.   
  
Flash. Flash. Flash.  
  
Red. Red. Red.  
  
A drop, clear, falling from nowhere. More drops, falling like rain on the pink and the red and the silver flash. The drops mixed with the red, made it thinner and weaker.  
  
Flashes without abandon.  
  
Deep, dark red now; strong crimson. It flowed over the raw, stinging pink. There was only red now. Bright and dark and alive.  
  
He brought his lips to his wrist and kissed the blood and tears away.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I couldn't believe it. Simply could not believe it. I had just watched Harry Potter - the famous Harry Potter - pull out a knife and slash his wrist into oblivion.  
  
Something was very, very wrong.  
  
Hedwig knocked on the window, and Potter's head snapped up. Shit shit shit. I had the feeling he was not going to appreciate my viewing that entire episode.   
  
My feeling was right. He stormed over to the window and yanked it open.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" he yelled in my face. I winced from the pain in my ears. Hedwig flew in, and I followed her, almost knocking Potter over.  
  
"Your last letter alarmed me a bit," I told him. "And I think there's a just reason for that!" I tried to take his arm, to look at the damage he'd inflicted on himself.  
  
"Go away," he told me. "Get the fuck away from me."  
  
That hurt my ears too. Especially because he meant it.  
  
"No." I pushed him over onto the bed. "You're getting help. Now."   
  
"Don't you dare touch me!"   
  
I ignored him and ripped the bottom hem off my robe for a bandage. I took his wrist and began to dab at it with the cloth. He pulled away.   
  
"Malfoy, you ferret! Leave me alone!" He crossed his arms and turned away.  
  
Sigh. Why did he have to be like this? Why wouldn't he just let me help him? He was hurting, after all, and you're supposed to help people who hurt.  
  
You're most definitely not supposed to let them do the hurting themselves.   
  
I grabbed his arm again. "Potter, you need help, and I'm giving it to you."  
  
He glared at me. His eyes looked like one of Snape's potions: green and angry and boiling over. "I don't need your help."  
  
"Well, you need someone's help, and through the process of elimination we arrive at me. So shut up and let me bandage your wrist."  
  
"Mal-"  
  
I tied the bandage around his mouth as a gag. I ripped another strip from my robe and took his arm again. This time, perhaps because he couldn't yell at me, he let me dab at it and wrap it up. I'm pretty sure I heard a few curse words from behind the gag, though.   
  
I didn't understand. What drove him to do this? What reason was there? Well, pain, obviously; always it was pain that made people do things like this. But why take this route? His home life sucked, but so did mine. He hurt, but so did I. We both lived under the pressure of pasts that we never knew - he with his scar, I with my family. I never cut my wrists. What made him do it?  
  
Before I could stop it, it left my tongue. "Why?"  
  
He stared. If earlier his eyes looked like a potion, now they looked like uncut emeralds. A dull green, with that bright sparkle obscured within. I'm sorry if I go on about his eyes, but I like eyes, and Potter's. . . Potter's are so very, very unusual.   
  
Anyways, he stared. It was the "d'oh" look, the one that says "but isn't it obvious?" Which was precisely what he said. "Isn't it obvious?"  
  
I stared right back at him. "No. It's not."  
  
"I hurt. Or can the cold-hearted bastard not see that?"  
  
"We all hurt, or can the self-centered prat not see that?"  
  
I'm afraid that he angered me. The idea that he would call me such a thing. . . People look and see my walls, but they never see the creature that lives inside them - the Minotaur inside the labyrinth. I was not, am not, and will never be a cold-hearted bastard. A bastard, yes; but not cold.   
  
Whatever I am, I have always been good at making Harry Potter mad. He pushed me down onto the bed, hard, making me bang into the headboard.   
  
"You hurt? YOU hurt? Did the two best - no, the two ONLY real friends you ever had - forget you? Abandon you? Do you have to live with people that hate you? Do you have to live with hating *yourself*?!"   
  
And I could answer him word for word. He and I are alike underneath. Proud, loyal, cunning, and ambitious; most of all, emotional. And he has always been good at making *me* mad.  
  
"Do you think it's great fun to be the son of Lucius Malfoy? Do you think it's all games? At least you had friends. At least you fucking had someone to count on! I had no one. No one, do you hear?"   
  
I never meant to say that, to reveal any of that. Never ever. I still can't believe that he made me so angry that I did say it. But. . . it was all true. I love Lucius; he is strong and intelligent, and I know that deep inside he cares, deep inside he loves me. But being a Malfoy means being alone, distant from possible friends - and even other Malfoys. It means never letting your heart be touched.   
  
We stood looking at each other. I watched him shake with anger and pain, and he watched me do the same.  
  
Silence. Complete and utter silence, yet I had never communicated so well with someone in my life until that moment.   
  
*tbc*  
  
  
  
A/N: Strange, yes? I've got a few ideas about where to go from here, and my only certainty is to hook up Harry and Draco. Review, and give ideas! Plot bunnies! Anything! (even flames!) 


	4. Explanations

A/N: I have a horrible feeling that Draco is becoming more and more OOC. *gah* I want to keep him cynical and perceptive as hell, but he's becoming softer by the moment! o I also have a feeling that this scene has been going on for EVER! *strangles self with mouse cord*   
  
  
  
He broke down then. Utterly broke. Flung himself on his bed and started crying like I've never seen anyone cry before. And when your father is a Death Eater, you've seen people cry; seen them beg for mercy with tears streaming down their faces. But he was different; it wasn't not from the Cruciatius curse, it wasn't not from fear of death or pain or his family being dealt with. It was from inside himself, and I'd never seen anyone cry like that before.   
  
I leaned over. "Potter?" He didn't answer. "Speak to me. Come on. If there's one thing I won't do, it's let any of your secrets go."   
  
"And why should I trust you?" he asked me in between his sobs.  
  
Sigh. So he didn't trust me, after all? And I thought we'd been making headway. Damn. Well, may as well try. . .   
  
"Potter, I'm good at keeping secrets. It's a skill I've learned."   
  
He kept crying, and crying, and I watched him continue crying into the bedspread. Finally he rolled over onto his back, his eyes red and swollen. "You know about the Dursleys. You know they're insufferable."  
  
I nodded, and waited.   
  
"So I don't need to say much more about that. I can put up with them, I'm used to them. But. . ."  
  
I waited again.  
  
"Damn them! Damn them to HELL!" His voice - the emotion, the pure anger - shook me. I wasn't expecting it.  
  
"Damn who, Potter?"  
  
"Ron and Hermione."   
  
Ah. The Weasel and the Mudblood. So he was missing his friends, was he? Or the people he used to call friends. I doubted that's what he would call them now. Not after a year of growing apart from them, and a summer of no contact. Not that I know very much about friends, but it's nice to theorize.   
  
Potter went on about what he felt was a betrayal by his "friends." I felt almost lucky to have never had any. If friendship was really that troublesome, and ended with that much pain, I guess I was lucky to have never worried about it.   
  
Although I wouldn't have minded feeling that pain. Just once, I would've liked to feel it.   
  
Potter told me about how worried he was about Sirius, although he still wouldn't use Sirius's name. Spontaneous trust does not extend so far as to reveal that your godfather is really a wizard on the run from Azkaban. He told me about writing to Snape, and how Snape had been so. . . pleasant.   
  
"What do you think about Snape, Malfoy?" he asked me.   
  
"Snape?" I paused for a moment. "Loyal and intelligent. Cunning. And very, very secretive."   
  
"Why do you think he likes you so much?"  
  
I really haven't a clue why he asked me that. Where in his twisted little brain had it come from? Why would he care, after all - what did my relationship with a professor matter? But, you always try to answer someone who's gone mad the way Potter had.   
  
"He's known me since I was a baby. He and my father were. . . well, you know that story, don't you?" He nodded his head. "They're colleagues, and friends. I've always been around him, and he's just sort of like a second father to me."   
  
"But he left Voldemort before you were born - how could he and your father still be friends?"  
  
Curious question, that one. I gave him the only answer I could fathom.  
  
"I think he's the one person my father genuinely likes and trusts."   
  
"He doesn't trust you?"  
  
"Would you trust me?"  
  
He paused. "I told you about all this, didn't I?"  
  
My eyes blinked spontaneously. I think that moment was when I started developing the annoying eye twitch I've had ever since. Whenever I'm surprised, my eyes start blinking rather quickly. Damn Potter, gave me a *twitch* of all things. . .  
  
So, he did trust me. My enemy. . . my bloody enemy, of all people. Although if you looked at the situation, it didn't seem as if we were enemies anymore.   
  
So, naturally, I asked him.   
  
"We still enemies, Potter?"  
  
"No. . . I don't think so."  
  
I didn't say anything for a minute. I didn't know what to, considering we were officially no longer enemies. It was all too tense. I hate it when the air gets like that - crackles and sparks and you can just feel the awkwardness swirling around you.   
  
So I decided to try and lighten things up a bit.   
  
"Good. Now I don't have to use your secrets as blackmail." I gave him a grin, and he hit me over the head with a pillow.  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy." He was laughing. Although he was trying not to, he was laughing.   
  
I couldn't help laughing along with him. Soon we were rolling on the bed, holding our sides. I fell off the edge with a thump, and Potter followed me and landed right on top of me. Boy was surprisingly heavy - he looks so thin and weak, but he nearly squashed me.   
  
It was at that moment, while Potter was lying on top of me and laughing madly, that his damn cousin Dudley had to open the door and walk in.   
  
  
  
A/N: The angst was too much; I had to add in some comic relief. Can anyone say "Draco uke?" Which means Harry is seme. . . hmmm. Should Harry pounce Draco, or should Draco pounce Harry? Whaddaya think? Review and tell! 


	5. Know Thy Enemy

A/N: The Neverending Scene continues. I would really like to thank all the reviewers - over 50 reviews! *squeals* Wheee!   
  
  
  
All I can say about Dudley is. . . gross. The sight of him was truly disturbing.   
  
Luckily for my eyes, he left the room. Unluckily for both Potter and I, he left shouting, "Father! Mother! There's one of *those* boys in Harry's room!"   
  
Potter looked positively frightened. He got off me quickly, hand holding his lower spine as if in pain. His eyes were a bit wild, and he was murmuring, like a mantra, "oh shit oh shit oh shit."   
  
"Is this bad? Or is this really, really, really bad?" I asked.  
  
"The latter. I'm not supposed to contact any wizards at all over the summer. You don't know how much they hate wizards." He winced. "It's at the level of Voldemort and his hatred of Muggles."  
  
I winced this time. There was, first off, the idea that anyone besides Voldemort could harbor such hate. There was also another reason. I don't like hearing that name - it scares me. It scares me because of its power, and because I will most likely end up serving that power, a little minion to the Dark Lord. I don't particularly want to be a Death Eater, but there's all those familial expectations and all. . .   
  
"What are they going to do?" I replied, trying to get my mind off the word Voldemort.   
  
"Lock me under the stairs, yell at me, hit me."   
  
He said it so simply. So very, very simply. As if it was what happened to any child who ever misbehaved. As if he *had* misbehaved.   
  
"They hit you?"  
  
His response this time was to pull up his shirt. Bruises in various stages of healing marked his stomach and back. When he said they hit him, they hit him. Hard. Not often enough to leave many marks - he had less bruises than he would during the middle of Quidditch season - but the very fact that they were there incensed me.   
  
I was going to say something - I don't know what. "I'm sorry?" "And I thought Death Eaters were bad?" "Jesus Christ?" Now that I think back, there's nothing really appropriate to say. But I didn't have to do anything about it, anyways; I could hear heavy footsteps down the hall, and then a loud voice screaming, "Haaaarrrrry!!!"   
  
I pushed Potter behind me. "You. Stay." I pulled out my wand.  
  
Potter's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he asked. I just grinned. My regular, sneering, I'm-going-to-screw-someone-over grin. Lucius calls it my trickster face. I prefer to call it my business look, but that's a different story, one that often involves the Weasley twins.   
  
"I'm going to scare the living shit out of your uncle."   
  
At that moment, said uncle decided to enter the room.   
  
"I TOLD you that you were not allowed to communicate with ANY of those foul people!"   
  
God, the man was almost as gross as his son. I shuddered, and my eye twitched yet again. I walked up to him, a sincere-looking smile on my face.   
  
"Good day, sir. Just dropped by to see how Harry was. Haven't seen him since school, after all." I turned around to look at Potter, and winked. He looked horrified. I don't think he knew I was baiting his uncle with my talk of Hogwarts.   
  
He fell for the bait. "You nasty people! Leave this household alone! You have no right to be here! Get out!"   
  
Yes, he fell like a stone off Gryffindor Tower. I had hoped he would tell me to leave.   
  
"I will, on one condition." I smiled again.   
  
"No conditions. Get out!"   
  
I reached out and pressed the tip of my wand into his chest. "As I said, on one condition."   
  
He laughed at me. "You're not allowed to use magic over the summer."   
  
I don't like being laughed at. "Oh, I'm not?" I said. I pressed the wand harder into his chest. "They're going to arrest a sixteen-year-old boy for doing his homework? You think I can't use magic?" He stepped backwards, and I continued to press the wand into him. Then I stood on my toes and whispered into his ear.   
  
"I know the Dark Arts. I enjoy the Dark Arts. I can put you into such pain as you've never known, all with three syllables and a swirl of this wand. I could kill you in six."  
  
Not that I would have actually used Crucio or Avada Kedavra. I've seen those spells done, and I don't like them; plus, they really would arrest me if I'd used them. But Uncle Vernon didn't know that because Uncle Vernon was an ignorant Muggle.   
  
I fell back onto my heels. "I will go, on one condition," I repeated. "You let me take him with me."   
  
"What?" he asked, rather incredulous. Then he remembered that I had just threatened to torture and kill him, and he looked interested.   
  
"He comes with me, away from worthless Muggles like you. From child abusers like you. Unless, of course," I said, my smile becoming a tad feral, "you'd rather I go to the police."   
  
He really looked scared then. "Fine! Take him! We never wanted him anyways," he said. He turned and left the room.   
  
I turned around to look at Potter. "Want to leave?" I asked, rather chipper.  
  
"Why'd you do that?" he asked me.   
  
To tell the truth, I'm sure. All I do know is that I didn't hate him anymore - he wasn't my enemy. He was almost approaching friend stage - maybe not a close friend, but approaching. Still, I couldn't say that. I said something else, which was true but not quite the reason.   
  
"He's a rather worthless and nasty Muggle who beats you. Unless, of course, you want to stay?"   
  
He shook his head frantically, hair whipping around. I laughed, because it really was a comical sight.   
  
"I want to know how you got him to give in," he then said. "I'd like to know the technique, so I can use it."   
  
I stopped laughing. "I threatened him." I didn't particularly want to tell him. It doesn't do to go around telling people that you know how to perform the Dark Arts.   
  
Potter, naturally, just had to ask. "With what?"  
  
"Crucio and Avada Kedavra."   
  
His jaw dropped, and I could tell that I myself had just dropped a little in his eyes. I inwardly groaned. I didn't want to lose whatever trust he'd given me. Why, I don't know, but I do know that it felt good to have someone trust me.   
  
"I wouldn't have used them, you know. It's just that he doesn't know that, so I could use it against him." I said it very quietly.   
  
He crossed his arms. "Rule No. 1: Know thy enemy?" he asked.  
  
I nodded.   
  
There's just one problem with that rule, as shown by his case: sometimes, when you know your enemy, you find that he's no longer your enemy.   
  
God damned rules. They never work the way they're supposed to.   
  
  
  
*tbc*  
  
A/N: The Neverending Scene is now finished! W00t! Cheer Draco up, leave a review. 


	6. Arrivals

A/N: This is a bit of a transition chapter; there's not really a great deal of action, and it's fairly short. However, since I haven't posted anything in this in forever *hangs head in shame* I decided to post this chapter now instead of making it a part of the next one. Worry not, more will come later.   
  
Changes 6 : "Arrivals"  
  
I was rash. Maybe too rash. It just all caught up with me. The letter writing, the trip over to Harry's, his wrist, the abuse. . . I don't think I understood how they could do that to him. Even I had never wished that on him.   
  
I tried to comprehend what he'd been going through, but it was difficult. I understood the family part, at least somewhat. I'd never been hit (although the threat of the Cruciatius curse was something that was often levied against me), but I knew what it was like to be ignored. I love Lucius and Narcissa, I really do, but they're busy and - let's face it - poor parental material. So I knew what the family bit was like. The friends part was another thing. I'd never had a true friend like he had, and I didn't know what it was like to lose one.   
  
We'd quickly left 4 Privet Drive. All of his school supplies had been thrown into something of a multi-dimensional pocket. They're useful when you want to carry things on a broomstick. Rip the air, stick everything in the rip, close the rip and attach it to your broom. I spent the entire trip thinking and directing the broomstick, with Harry's arms locked around my waist. His prescence unnerved me a tad. Not only did I not know what to say - a very uncommon occurrence with me - but I wasn't used to flying with another person on my broom.   
  
Finally we arrived, multi-dimensional pocket and all.   
  
"I love Hogwarts," Potter said. He stood in the Great Hall, looking up at the blue sky of the ceiling. He spun around to emphasize his point. I couldn't help a small smile; he looked truly happy.   
  
His moment of joy was broken when McGonagall entered the room. I saw his face pinch a bit, and remembered what he'd written in his letter: "You may have another sixth-year Slytherin." Potter might've been jaded, but it was obvious that he wasn't so jaded that he was comfortable around his head of house. Especially when - I could see it in his eyes - he would soon be betraying said head of house.   
  
McGonagall nodded to me, rather curtly considering that I'd just brought her beloved pupil to safety. Then she walked over to Potter, face full of worry.  
  
"Harry! What's happened? Are you alright?" He answered with a few short words. She continued her questioning, and Potter gave her the same noncommital sentences. I don't know if I'd ever seen such a blatant attempt to get out of conversation before. I was almost ready to step in and remind her what he'd been through when another person entered the room - Snape.  
  
His eyes had a bit of that former joy upon seeing our dear old Potions professor. That fairly lit up. "Professor!"   
  
Snape nodded to him. "Good day, Harry." He turned to me and gave the same nod. "Good day, Draco."   
  
"Hello, Professor." I smiled at him; there's nothing like Snape's calm self when you have a flustered professor fussing about. Snape greeted McGonagall, and reminded her that Dumbledore wished to see both of us. She acquiesced, like all good Gryffindors do when you present them with the proper course of action. I discovered that trick long ago - make them think that something absolutely needs to be done, and they'll do it. Whether it's honor or righteousness or a crackheaded desire to be the brave one, they'll do it.   
  
Snape took Potter's arm - the one I'd bandaged, I noted rather sardonically - and waved for me to follow. He led us through the halls, almost completely silent for most of the trip. He only spoke when we reached the entrance to Dumbledore's rooms.   
  
"Harry." He received Potter's gaze. "Remember what I told you." He looked over to me, and gave me an odd smile. "And you just be good. No sarcasm."  
  
I fairly eeped; he hadn't said anything like that to me in a long, long time. Perhaps not since second year. Then there was that smile; it was small, and curved, and positively strange. And *what* had he told Potter?   
  
I suddenly found myself surrounded by mini-mysteries.   
  
We turned towards the entrance. Snape whispered "bubble gum" - another nasty Muggle candy, although I remembered having a field day with this particular one and the family cat - and it opened.   
  
:::open dat door::: 


End file.
